SURPRISE!
by Qwirkykeyboard
Summary: Basically, Nina's an ordinary gal, leading an ordinary life. She's also obsessed with Sherlock. On the day of her final exams for university, she oversleeps and is in a massive rush when the inexplicable happens. Sherlock Holmes appears in her bedroom. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** **One of the most popular themes for Sherlock fanfiction, is when an OC magically stumbles into Sherlock land, befriends him, and then spends the rest of her time solving crimes with him etc, etc. This is a story about when Sherlock magically stumbles out of the realms of fiction, and into the scary world of reality. I hope you enjoy it. :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the other characters, they belong to the beeb. Oh, apart from Nina of course.**

One of those days

It was one of those days when _nothing _was going right. And, as it so often happens, it was in perfect timing for Nina Abbey's finals. The one day in the year that she _had _to be early on. She wasn't quite sure why her alarm clock didn't go off, but the fact remained that it didn't. Her exam was a 9.30, and she was scared out of her sleepiness when she noticed the time was 8.55. That gave her 35 minutes to get ready and down to the examination venue, which was a fair bike ride away. As you can imagine, a frantic rush ensued.

'Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit, _shit, _SHIT'

Nina leapt out of bed, dexterously wrapping her long brunette hair into a messy bun, and sprinted into the bathroom, stubbing her toe on the bath in the process. She chastised said bath with various imaginative curses, before turning to the mirror and brushing her teeth aggressively, flecks of foam decorating her pyjama top. She glared at her reflection, and a pair of green eyes glared back, just as disapprovingly. Much to her displeasure, an angry boil was forming on her chin, throbbing red, and she frowned at her nose, which she thought was much too big for her face. After dispelling these negative thoughts by spitting ferociously into the sink, she splashed her face with cold water, and limped back into her bedroom, to throw on a random assortment of clothes – this turned out to be some dungarees, a checked shirt, odd socks, boots and her dad's cardigan, which he left when he last visited. She practically galloped down the stairs, looking a cross between an overgrown toddler and a lumberjack. With a regretful glance at the kettle and toaster (there was no time for breakfast today) she gathered up a few pens, chucked them in her bag, slung it over her shoulder and was just about to open the door when …

BANG!

Nina quickly removed her hand from the door knob and spun round to locate the source of the noise. This wasn't hard, because what sounded like several baby elephants wrestling followed. And it was coming from her bedroom.

Now Nina considered herself to be a brave person – she liked a good horror movie and once went sky diving with her friends. Yet the possibility of coming face to face with an intruder made the blood freeze in her veins, and sent her heart racing. But she was not going to be defeated – no way. This was Nina, the girl who slapped the school bully around the face in year 3, Nina, the girl who told grumpy Mr Stone the maths teacher exactly what she thought of him in Y10, Nina, the girl who not only touched the tarantula on that visit to the zoo, but held it as well. She gulped back the lump that was forming in her throat, gritted her teeth, and armed herself with a large umbrella, which, with hind sight possibly wasn't the best choice of weapon, but it made her feel more confident. This was probably something to do with the fact that it made her feel like Mycroft out of Sherlock, her favourite TV show, but Nina was far too concerned with her present situation to make probing analyses into her behaviour. She began to tiptoe towards the stairs, dialling 999 on her mobile in the process.

'John! JOHN! Where have you gone John? This is not funny!'

_Ah,_ thought Nina. _Ah! So there are two of them. _Still, Nina carried on up the stairs, reassured that the intruders would be too scared to attack her if she was on the phone to the emergency services. She was whispering into her mobile that she wanted the police when:

'MRS HUDSOOON! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY ROOM!'

Nina froze in her tracks – now that was weird. What would an intruder mean by randomly shouting out Sherlock characters? Either she was dealing with a dangerously obsessed fan, a schizophrenic, or someone with a serious personality disorder. Her grip tightened on the umbrella, and she walked up the stairs even more gingerly than before. She heard some more scuffling coming from her room. As she reached the top of the stairs, a head popped round the door of her room. She wasn't expecting to recognise the face of her terrifying intruder, but she did. What she saw made her drop the umbrella. Her jaw drooped, and she stared straight at the man, in silence. The man stared back, mirroring the look of perplexity on Nina's face. The operator at the other end of the line had to shout several times down the phone to bring her back to her senses. She apologised, said she must have been mistaken, and hung up.

The awkward silence lingered for about 2 minutes. Eventually, Nina moved out of her stock still position and gulped a bit, not taking her eyes off the man.

She managed to speak in a hoarse, feeble, wavering voice.

'But you're…' she faltered and left the statement hanging.

'Sherlock Holmes, yes', finished the mystery man, with a deep baritone rumble.

**Please review, and make my day ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**So here's chapter 2. I hope you enjoy it. BTW, thanks so much for the review Katta6666 ... much appreciated. It means a lot to me.**

After this surreal realisation that she was talking to Sherlock Holmes, Nina again just stayed still as a stature with her mouth drooping open, as if she was going to take a bite out of an enormous Scooby-doo style sandwich. It didn't occur to her that it was rude to continue staring, for she was so overcome with shock and confusion that all manners and pleasantries had vacated her brain for the time being. She did look fairly gormless standing there drooling, taking in every detail of Sherlock. She noted how his tousled curls were perfectly imperfect, giving him a I-know-I'm-hot-and-I-don't-even-need-to-try kind of look, how his cheekbones were as sharp as glacial peaks, how his mouth was moulded with a defined cupid's bow, and how intense his deeply penetrating ice-blue pupils were …

Nina snapped out of her fangirling to think logically about how she could possibly be opposite Sherlock Holmes, the FICTIONAL detective.

_Why do I happen to be having the most fucked up weird day when I need to be taking the most important exam of my life? _Nina wondered, beginning to mourn the loss of her rapidly disintegrating mental stability.

Sherlock could hardly just have jumped straight out of the TV – she would never believe that to be possible no matter how drunk she happened to be. So how come she was face to face with someone who looked exactly like Sherlock in every microscopic detail. He was far too convincingly like Sherlock to be some crazy impersonator who didn't only feel the need to dress up like the detective but also to embody his personality and break into random people's houses, although this was far more likely than Sherlock himself actually being in her house. She mused for a few moments that it was perhaps Benedict Cumberbatch, and she was being secretly filmed for one of those prank TV shows. This was quickly dismissed however. As if somebody had enrolled her for that on the day of her finals? And as if Benedict Cumberbatch would agree to it? She had been pinching herself for the entire duration of seeing Sherlock, making a red, stinging patch of skin on her hand, and was still not waking up, so she could rule out the possibility that it was only a dream. So she settled on her last, most worrying conclusion; that the stress of exams had finally sent her round the bend and she was hallucinating.

'Oh my God, oh my God! I'm mad, I'm nuts, I'm demented, I'm psychotic, I'm delirious, I've gone round the bend, I've finally lost it! Oh my God! I'm going to fail all my exams and spend the rest of my life wearing a strait jacket, locked up in an insane asylum, all on my own!' wailed Nina between despairing sobs.

Sherlock stared at the crumbling emotional wreck of a woman in front of him with a look of absolute bewilderment. He was no stranger to the … let's say _abrasive _effect he had on most people, due to his cold, arrogant and just downright obnoxious approach to the rest of humanity. But it was a first even for him to have someone dissolve into tears and apparent lunacy by just simply looking at him (OK, if you include the little kidnapped girl it was technically the second time this had happened … but he preferred to float over that particularly painful memory. It wasn't even _him _she was scared of. Just the kidnapper with whom he shared an uncanny resemblance). He hadn't done anything wrong. He hadn't even been asking for trouble. He had simply walked into his bedroom, which apparently wasn't his bedroom anymore, but had magically transformed into a flowery feminine chamber in a matter of seconds. To Sherlock's logical mind this was crazy … but Sherlock didn't lose it. To him there's a logical conclusion to every illogical situation, so he remained stoically calm. His eyes didn't betray even a fleeting moment of panic in his immodestly brilliant mind. He concluded that he was not hallucinating due to drug use, for he had been cold turkey for almost two months now. That meant this was really happening.

Sherlock walked over to the woman who had collapsed in a violently shuddering heap of long, ear-piecing wails on the floor, took her by the shoulders and gave her a vigorous shake. Nina flicked up her face to look at her tormentor, her eyes red and sparkling with fat, salty tears, her skin clammy and unnaturally pale with errant sections of tear-soaked hair stuck to it, and deep red lips quivering with the onset of another wave of sobs.

'I really must be losing it now … even my own hallucinations are abusing me!' she wailed.

Sherlock checked her pulse and pupils quickly to ascertain if she was on any drugs. This theory being disproved, he resorted to the idea that she was in shock. He looked around, noticing the door to the bathroom was ajar, rushed inside and returned with a glass of cold water, which he promptly threw in Nina's face (not the glass mind, just the water. He wanted to snap her out of her panic attack, not murder her in the process). Nina stopped wailing, and looked straight into Sherlock's eyes, mouth agape and breathing heavily, her whole body heaving with quick, shallow breaths and dripping with water. Sherlock thought he had succeeded.

But then Nina started to scream.

Not just a quick affair due to the shock of being soaked with freezing water suddenly and unexpectedly, but a full blown screech that could shatter glass and told the world she was in mortal danger. This was the last thing Sherlock wanted her to do. Someone was sure to come and check on her, and he would be discovered in her house, the explanation as to why and how he came to be there just as inexplicable to him as it would be to the police. Although they would probably settle on the theory that he was in there for some malevolent purpose – people just didn't go around breaking into houses for fun. But as far as Sherlock was concerned he hadn't even broken in. He just happened to be there, entirely unintentionally. But how did you shut up a screaming woman? Sherlock, possessing absolutely no social skills, began by pacing up and down a little signalling her to be quiet. This didn't work. He knelt by her, patted her awkwardly on the shoulder for a bit and offered some soothing words to calm her down ('There, there … shhhh. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm Sherlock, a consulting detective. I'm here to help you.') Sherlock didn't seem to understand why this only made her scream louder. So he resorted to:

'PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER FOR GOD'S SAKES!'

Sherlock screamed it suddenly and without warning, just after he had been whispering some words of comfort to her. His face was inches away from her's, and she was shocked into silence.

'There. Good. Now we're getting somewhere.'

Nina sat shivering, her top lip wobbling a little. Sherlock helped her to her feet.

'Please don't hurt me, please don't hurt me. Oh my God …' whispered Nina hoarsely.

Sherlock signalled her to be quiet. Nina didn't take her eyes off his, and she murmured to herself, to try and calm herself down:

'This is just a dream. This isn't real. It is just happening in my head. In a minute I'll wake up, in good time to get to my exam, and everything will be OK.'

This seemed to work for a bit. Sherlock just looked confused at why she should be so desperate to convince herself that he was a figment of her imagination. It gave him the impression that he was missing something. But he was Sherlock – he never missed anything. He didn't like the feeling at all.

Just then, the doorbell rang, cutting through the silence. Nina jumped up in a heartbeat, and ran down stairs to the door. She needed someone else to tell her this was all in her head, that there was no one with her, especially not Sherlock Holmes, and that it was just a bad dream. Sherlock followed at her heels. Nina pulled the door open rapidly, banging the door knob on the wall, looking frantic and queasy. Miriam Webb, her 83 year old neighbour stood there, leaning on a Zimmer frame, with a very concerned look in her genteel, watery blue eyes.

'Oh hello love. I just popped round to see if you're OK, you see I thought I heard … well never mind, I see you're well attended to.'

She nodded to Sherlock, who had his hand on her shoulder. Nina, noticing that Miriam had noticed Sherlock freaked out even more, her knees giving a little. So this was really happening? Sherlock was really here?

'You look awful dear, are you alright? Who's the gentleman by the way, I don't think I've seen him here before.' She leaned a little closer to Nina, and added in a very audible whisper:

'Very handsome too I might add. Looks a little like that one of the telly, what's he called?… Benidorm Cucumberpatch?' She winked at Sherlock.

'Mind you look after her young man. She's studying for her final exams don't you know,' added Miriam with a knowing nod.

Sherlock blinked a little. Nina looked as if she was about to faint. Miriam looked at the pair, smiling benignly, eyes' twinkling with the reminiscence of her husband when he was Sherlock's age.

'Thank you, Mrs -?' Sherlock asked brusquely, without the merest indication that he actually meant it.

'Oh, call me Miriam please. I find all these little formalities so tiresome now I'm getting on a bit and…'

Sherlock interrupted discourteously.

'Thank you Miriam. That will be all.' He promptly slammed the door in her face.

Miriam, looking a little perplexed, lingered on the doorstep for a bit before slowly turning around with great effort, and began hobbling back to her house.

Nina wobbled on her legs. She felt nauseous, and her sight clouded over with a fuzziness, like the static you get when you tune out of a channel on the TV. Her ears were ringing, and she swayed a little before her legs completely gave way and she fell into a dead faint. Sherlock caught her as she fell, looking confused as to what he should do about the unconscious woman in his arms.


End file.
